


Perchance to Dream

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Paint The Sky With Stars [32]
Category: Night World - Fandom, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Witches, Crossover, Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 04:05:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7298875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Multiverse, Any, 'Of the things you choose in life, you don't get to choose what your nightmares are. You don't pick them; they pick you.' - John Irving"</p><p>Ronon discovers that True Form connects him more deeply to Evan, and not in a pleasant way, but he'll shoulder the burden gladly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perchance to Dream

Evan rarely slept in human form. After the end of a long day of rebuilding, using their superhuman strength to clear debris so people could find places to live, Ronon usually stumbled into the small room he and Evan were sharing and found a sleek black jaguar sprawled on the floor beside the bed, limbs twitching as he dreamed.  
  
“Dreams are simpler in True Form,” Evan explained. “Less complicated. Memories, mostly, stripped down to the bare essentials. Sight, sound, smell, heat. No - emotions. Just the basics - hunger, lust, excitement, fear.”   
  
He and Ronon were sitting on the edge of the square, Evan studying the crumbling Capital skyline. They’d cleared enough debris to set up tents for temporary living space. The citizens had insisted that Ronon and Evan stay in the first room cleared in a stable structure, just off the edge of Central Square, and Ronon hadn’t been able to refuse them.  
  
“What do you dream about?”  
  
“Hunting, mostly. Tracking.”  
  
“You do a lot of hunting as a kid? I thought you grew up on - what’d McKay call it - a hippie commune.”  
  
“A hippie commune, yes,” Evan said. He finished the last of his sandwich and dusted the crumbs off his fingers.   
  
“I thought they were peaceful and...flowery.”  
  
“They were. They are.” Evan sighed. “But I’m a Lorne, one of the Forsaken.”  
  
“What does that even mean? You’ve said it so many times before.”  
  
“It means I’m bigger and stronger, tougher than most shifters. So it was my responsibility to enforce Night World law against rogue shifters and the occasional witch or vampire.”  
  
“You mean killing them.”  
  
“Usually. The Council passed judgment. But if there needed to be a execution -” Evan looked away.  
  
“I’ve never slept fully in True Form,” Ronon said. “Would’ve been nice when I was Running. Except, you know, naked.”  
  
Evan flicked a heated glance at him. “You naked is amazing, though.”  
  
Ronon laughed. “You are so easily distracted by sex.”  
  
“By you, really.” Evan leaned over and kissed him softly.  
  
“I should try it sometime.” Ronon finished his sandwich. “Sleeping in True Form. You doing that isn’t helping, though.”  
  
“Helping what?”  
  
“Helping people think you’re not one of the Old Gods.”  
  
“You could try, a little harder, to remind them of who we are. Don’t they remember you from before?”  
  
“Before I was a lowly specialist. You’re from Atlantis, the home of the Ancestors, and you walk with the power of the Old Gods. They don’t listen to me.” Ronon knew he was no god, but he wondered about Evan. Evan, who was beautiful, and vulnerable, but so strong and so fierce. Evan, who could make fire with his mind, and water when a child was thirsty, and wind when it was warm, earth when the farmers needed to plant. Ronon wondered if Evan had never known he was a god because all his life he’d been told he was a monster.  
  
Ronon wondered how many gods had been taken for monsters.  
  
Once the food was finished, Evan wasn’t one to malinger. He stood up, stretched, and then ambled over to Seersha, who was overseeing the clearing of the rubble. She looked nervous when he approached, but he set her at ease with his smile. Seersha was one of Marita’s many sisters, and while Marita was learning new stories from Evan (mostly from movies, though a few true stories, about Evan’s cousins), she was still spreading the tale of the Old Gods. Seersha assigned them to move some larger pieces of rubble. Evan nodded and beckoned for Ronon, and they set to work.  
  
By the end of the day, Central Square was completely clear, and Ronon felt like he’d never be able to move again. He also knew that if he ate a proper meal and slept, he would feel just fine in the morning. When he returned from the wash pump, Evan was sprawled on the floor, in True Form, sleeping peacefully enough. Ronon took a breath, shifted, and then curled up beside him. One more person could use their bed, if they always slept in True Form.  
  
That might be nice, for someone else to have decent shelter. Maybe a woman with child?  
  
Ronon yawned, closed his eyes, and slept.  
  
And dreamed.  
  
Of his entire body burning, on fire, because he was crossing sand, sand, and endless sand beneath a relentless sun, tracking a bear shifter. He needed to drink. Needed water. Would die without water.

He dreamed of lying in an alley, bleeding out, silver burning through his veins, choking the breath from him, squeezing his heart. Of being so, so young and huddling on a chair beside a cot in a cement basement. The man on the cot was a werewolf. He hadn’t eaten in seven days, and he was dying. And he was screaming and begging. Threatening to tear into him. Demanding food. Pleading for mercy, for kindness.

_C’mon, kiddo. Be a good boy. You’re a good boy, right? Just a little bit of food._

Ronon dreamed of running through the streets, running and running and running, dodging cars and honking horns, knowing they were behind him. The vampires. With the changeable eyes like John Sheppard’s. They were chasing him, and if they caught him, they would kill him. He skittered into an alley and dove into a cardboard box, shivering. Waiting.

The stench of garbage would mask his scent to the vampires. A stray dog slunk into the box and curled up with him, kept him warm. He fell asleep beside it in human form, comforted by its soft, dirty fur.

He cried, three days later, when he had to kill it and eat it.

Ronon dreamed of an alien planet scattered with tents and military equipment. He dreamed of sending out the notice for chow and Ritter not coming back, and Ritter not coming back, and trying to track him and coming across a scent that he’d never encountered before but made him want to shrink in terror.

Ronon slept, and he dreamed. He came awake to Evan shaking him.

“Ronon, snap out of it, you’re safe!” Evan scrabbled at his shoulders desperately. “You’re safe. Not running anymore.” Evan smoothed a hand over Ronon’s back gently. “The tracker’s gone. It’s okay.”

Ronon blinked, shook himself, had to concentrate to shift into human form. Evan pulled Ronon into his arms, murmuring soothing noises. Ronon realized he was shaking.

“It’s okay,” Evan murmured against Ronon’s skin. “They’re just dreams now, not reality anymore.”

Not just dreams. Memories. Evan’s memories. Ronon knew, without a doubt, that Evan was seeing his.

“Love you,” Ronon said roughly. He wouldn’t choose those dreams for himself or anyone else, but he’d chosen Evan, and he’d share every burden.


End file.
